


A Smoothness Which Sings

by foil



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Alternate Universe - Westworld Fusion, Artificial Intelligence, Bittersweet Ending, M/M, one scene of graphic violence, zuko's cabbages
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:02:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29717583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foil/pseuds/foil
Summary: Zuko, a wealthy but lonely businessman, falls for a beautiful android named Sokka in the Four Nations Amusement Park.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Zuko (Avatar)/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 24





	A Smoothness Which Sings

**Author's Note:**

> I need to stop starting new projects, but this one was really tugging at me. This'll be a quick two or three-part Westworld AU that takes place in a theme park where people may enact their desires, violent or otherwise, on AI "hosts" without fear of consequence. The first bit isn't nearly as dark or angsty as I thought it would be, but I rated it higher in anticipation of future installments. I hope you enjoy! Thank you!

Zuko has completed the _Avatar: The Last Airbender_ narrative twice: once as a simple cabbage merchant, and once as a prince, loyal to Phoenix King Ozai. He exits the Four Nations amusement park on a cold day in February and sits in the decontamination room for a long time, trying to reintroduce himself with reality. He's not sure if he'll visit again. It'd be hard to beat that last run: rage and smoke and diplomacy and finesse. Zuko is a wealthy, powerful man, but he is no sixteen-year-old Fire Lord.

And he likes it that way. Likes containing himself to this fabricated universe, where no one gets damaged except the androids that populate the park. And hurting the feelings of non-sentient beings hardly counts as violence.

When he finally feels steady enough to face the real world again, he presses the button on the wall for service.

The double doors slide open, and the most beautiful man Zuko has ever seen steps into the room.

"Zuko Lee," he says, smiling. "Are you finished playing?"

It takes him a moment to find his voice. "I completed the Fire Lord storyline."

"Did you defect?" asks the man.

"Pardon me?"

"Did you help the Avatar, or did you lick Ozai's boots?"

Zuko stares at him. He's about Zuko's age, maybe a bit younger, with gorgeous brown skin and long, toned limbs. Attractive undercut, hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. Blue eyes. _Blue as the ocean I never crossed._ "He was my father," says Zuko at last. "Was I intended to defy him?"

"It's a popular route, yes. Did it not occur to you that genocide might be one of the more objectionable courses of action?" The young man's flirty smirk disappears. "I'm sorry. What am I saying? It's not my place to judge you. It's a fantasy. And I hope you got what you wanted from it, whatever that is, Prince Zuko."

"Please don't call me that. I'm just Zuko here." Zuko hesitates. "And you're—?"

"Sokka," says the man.

"Sokka what?"

"Merely Sokka."

This time, Zuko studies him a little more carefully. That's when it clicks: Sokka's too-perfect body, his smile, his unlikely eyes. "You're one of them, aren't you? An android?"

"I am whatever you want me to be," Sokka says cryptically. Then he grins again. "I'm a sort of recent development. Fifteen-year-old me is almost ready to become part of the Avatar's retinue, brother to Katara. I don't know if you met her—she's Water Tribe—but the developers thought her storyline could use a little more levity. So here I am."

"Here you are," Zuko repeats in a whisper. It still hits him over and over how lifelike they are, but Sokka is a new brand of realistic, especially with his modern mannerisms and inflections. If they met on the street, Zuko wouldn't have been able to tell the difference between them. He eyes Sokka from top to bottom, marveling.

"Do you want to have sex with me?" asks Sokka.

Zuko startles badly. "What? _No!"_

"The way you were looking at me—heavy breathing, accelerated heart rate—I guess I misinterpreted." Sokka is calm, unaffected by the rejection. "Hey, let's get you unhooked from the system before I snoop on any more of your vitals."

Together, they thread out the implants in Zuko's arm that tracked him as he explored the Fire Nation. Zuko bleeds a little. Sokka hisses in sympathy and heals it over with one pass of a remedial stylus, then mops his skin clean with a washcloth. Zuko must have questions on his face, because Sokka turns to him, expression curious—or some approximation of curiosity. He must have a high acuity stat. He parses out Zuko's uncertainty with an effortlessness that makes Zuko feel both acknowledged and overexposed.

"We bleed, too," Sokka says. "Is that what you were going to ask? Surely your playthrough wasn't— bloodless? You were the bad guy!"

"I didn't hurt anyone directly," says Zuko. "I prohibited the whippings and beatings immediately, and I never visited the battlegrounds. Maybe that was cowardly of me? Neglecting my princely duties or whatever?"

"Not cowardly," says Sokka, "but unusual. I suspect a majority of our guests consciously come here to see the blood. To draw it, even. Back in the labs, we see hundreds of 'dead people—'" Sokka uses finger quotes, "—every day. Bodies mutilated. Burned. Beheaded. Folks come to the Four Nations, a wartime park, for a reason. And that's not generally just to canoodle with the moon princess or eat fire flakes in the theater. If people didn't want to do damage, they'd go to Cuddly Soft Kitten and Puppy Land. They wouldn't come here. Not to a place of enmity."

Zuko is only half-processing what Sokka is saying. He thinks himself a kind man, yes, and he's stunned to hear of the violence that takes place daily in the park—but he's more interested in Sokka than he is in evaluating his own performance. "You're very different from the other hosts," Zuko says.

"I assure you, I am not," says Sokka. "I'm programmed the same as any of 'em. Better-looking, though."

"You're—colloquial. You're funny."

"Well, thanks," he says, with a goofy grin. Then he grows serious. "Sokka's got some shiny new features, it's true. Little more—spontaneous, nuanced. And attentive. But tight-lipped, too. I've made hundreds of thousands of observations about you during this interaction that I'll never share with anyone outside this room."

"For example?" says Zuko.

Sokka hesitates. Actually _hesitates_ , like a living, breathing person. Then he says, "You're a good man. Empathetic. Moral. You played the Fire Prince this time around because you wanted people to pay attention to you, not because you craved cruelty. You just want to be visible. Appreciated." Sokka glances up at him through long, pretty lashes. "And you find me very, very attractive."

Zuko sputters, and Sokka laughs heartily, clapping his hands.

"It's okay, Zuko! Not to loop back around to it, but I'm literally designed to be fuckable!"

"Please don't say things like that!"

"Why not?" asks Sokka. "God, you must be the only guest who comes here who doesn't want to stab or screw someone. You're telling me you've never considered fucking one of the hosts?"

"Never," says Zuko honestly. "I played a sixteen-year-old boy!"

"And the cabbage merchant, that first time."

"Yeah, well, cabbage merchants don't exactly get people panting," Zuko says. "And the Avatar and his friends kept destroying my cart anyway, so it was really, really difficult to make a livelihood. I still have real calluses from tilling the soil."

"So you paid hundreds of millions of dollars to play Vegetable Gardening Simulator," says Sokka, laughing. "That's amazing."

"What's amazing is that people will pay that much just to live out fantasies of hurting other people," Zuko replies.

"What's amazing," he counters, "is that you _don't_."

It may well be Zuko's imagination, but the silence that follows feels loaded, full of actual contemplation and judgment and spontaneity. Sokka looks him over again, closely. As if memorizing him in some cognitive sense that has nothing to do with his being an esteemed customer. Zuko gets a very actual stab of—something. Confusion and longing, or something in between.

"Do you want to get dinner with me?" Zuko asks.

Sokka's voice takes on a soothing, logical note. "Zuko, I know I'm convincing, but I'm not a real boy."

"Reality is subjective," Zuko counters, but he has already given up; is embarrassed and thrown. "Sorry. I think I still feel a little messed up from being in the park for so long."

"It's okay," says Sokka. "If I could be flattered, I would be, really. You are a fascinating anomaly."

Zuko smiles tiredly at him. "Thank you, I guess. Would you excuse me? I'd like to change and shower, and while I know your being here shouldn't really have any effect on my modesty, I—"

"Say no more! I will place your personal belongings on the counter. I'll be just outside if you need me."

"Thanks," Zuko says again. He wasn't lying; he's truly exhausted and out of sorts. Why the fuck did he do that? He watches Sokka leave—doesn't stare at his perfectly sculpted backside, thank you very much—and waits until the doors have sealed shut before retreating to the shower room and scrubbing the world of the Four Nations off of every inch of his worn-out body.

Not a Fire Lord now. Just Zuko Lee. He feels mildly reclaimed under the clean, steamy water, and stands there for a long time, remembering what it's like to be who he really is.

When he finishes combing his hair and changing back into the suit he arrived in, he gathers his wallet and phone (kept fully charged during his stay; a courtesy that does not go unnoticed) and heads into the main foyer. He pauses at the doors. Sokka's not there anymore.

"They required Sokka in the labs," says the host at the front desk. "He asked me to convey his apologies."

"That's okay," says Zuko. They'll likely never see each other again, and something about that is as saddening as it is correct. "Have a good afternoon."

"Goodbye," she says smoothly.

Back in the city, though, it's already the middle of the evening, almost nine. Zuko feels out of time. Needs to reorient. He checks his phone—only a few messages; his coworkers were aware that he was taking his vacation—but one of them is from his friend Mai, telling him that she, Ty Lee, and Azula are getting drinks at a nearby cocktail lounge. It sounds like a nice way to decompress. Zuko changes into a fresh suit at his apartment, then meets them in their corner booth, where they've already ordered him his usual flute of Armand de Brignac rosé.

"Hey, babe," says Ty Lee warmly in greeting, hugging him around the waist. "Fresh out of the Four Nations! How are you feeling?"

"Anachronistic," Zuko admits. He kisses Mai's hand, then Azula's cheek. "Hi, ladies."

"Hi yourself," says Mai. She looks gorgeous in a black satin sheath dress, a stark contrast to Ty Lee's bubblegum pink slip and Azula's strapless blue evening gown. True visions, all of them. Zuko lives such a life of opulent beauty that it's no real stretch coming back from being a literal prince, but the conversation with Sokka still has him shaken. Mai reads him like a book: "Is something wrong, Zuko?"

He hesitates. "I think I met someone remarkable."

"Oh, no," says Azula. "Don't tell me some pretty AI fluttered his lashes at you in there. I thought you didn't favor the romance routes?"

"I don't," Zuko says. "This was in decontam. It wasn't an in-character host."

"By their very nature, all hosts are 'in-character,'" Mai points out.

"Yes, but this one was—self-aware. Honest."

"Beautiful, no doubt," says Ty Lee. "The technology is getting better and better every day. What did he look like?"

"No, don't encourage this," Azula interjects. "You're not readjusted yet, Zuko. You need some strong drinks and a nice, amorous encounter with a real-life man. Why don't you call James?"

"Why don't I jump off a fucking building instead?" says Zuko.

The women laugh. "Guess you and he are 'off' at the moment," says Ty Lee, squeezing his hand. "But Azula's right; I shouldn't have asked about your synthetic sweetheart. Forgetting him now will save you a lot of heartbreak in the future. Gosh, I was _so_ in love with Princess Yue during my first playthrough. Thankfully, Mai snapped me out of it."

"We met at an opportune time," Mai agrees.

"The only person I've ever been in love with in the Four Nations is myself," says Azula, smirking dangerously as she sips from her martini. "Princess Azula, Fire Lord Azula. The title sounded so good coming from the lips of my poor, mistreated subjects."

"I played the prince this time around," says Zuko. "Guess that makes us siblings."

"Sounds right, Zuzu," says Azula, giving his shoulder a playful bump. She's Zuko's oldest friend. They met in a summer program at a music conservatory as children, both of them on piano. Zuko gave it up when he graduated from high school, but Azula still plays several nights a week at an art lounge downtown.

That's something that people don't favor from AIs: music. Art in general. Androids are employed by corporations and upper-class citizens, confined to manual labor, ocean exploration, food and cleaning services—and the theme parks, of course. Outlets for violence and companionship. They don't often discuss the characters they've played, but Zuko suspects that all of his peers prefer antagonistic storylines. It makes sense. Ty Lee and Mai are the kindest people he knows, and Azula is too self-disciplined, holding herself to a rigorous standard of social and emotional captivity. Why wouldn't they want to play different people in their fantasies? Zuko himself certainly does.

He's not a prince in this world. He is exorbitantly rich, yes, but he doesn't command armies or nations. Barely controls his own work schedule. Maybe that's what he was trying to combat: the sense of helplessness he feels every day as a corporate drone. The park helped, but three weeks of annual vacation aren't quite enough to entirely expunge his feelings of boredom and mediocrity.

Zuko still has seven days left to relax, and he has no idea how he's going to fill that time. Hopefully there will be a lot of alcohol involved.

When he reaches for his wallet to purchase the next round, a business card falls out of the billfold.

 _The Four Nations,_ it reads in raised silver lettering. Below that, simply, _Sokka._ Zuko flips it over, confused, and finds a message written in messy, compact cursive: _Mr. Lee, my first three-day trial storyline was just approved! Ask for me when you book your next vaycay. I'll remember you, I promise. xx Sokka._

"How tricky of them," says Azula, when Zuko passes the card to her. "Saw you making eyes at an AI and immediately decided to capitalize on it."

Zuko chews his lower lip. Three days is exceptionally short for a full narrative; Sokka must be a supporting character of some sort. Though Zuko has no idea how they could sideline such beauty and humor and intelligence. "I'm going to do it," he says.

"Zuko, no!" Ty Lee groans. "You just got back!"

"Might as well immerse myself again while I'm still wet, right?"

"Really, really poorly-worded analogy," says Mai, and she and Zuko, tipsy by now, laugh together as Ty Lee and Azula shake their heads.

"This is a bad idea," says Ty Lee. "My obsession with Yue started with something like this! They only gave me a discount on 'The Siege of the North' because I was so obviously smitten with her as the Avatar."

"I didn't know you were ever the Avatar," says Zuko, surprised.

"Yeah, it was kind of grim? I liked Katara, Toph, and Suki, but they were pretty nose-to-the-grindstone. Literally, in Toph's case! Earthbending joke, heh."

Katara. That sounds familiar. Zuko thinks for a moment, then snaps his fingers. "Sokka said he was going to be Katara's brother to provide some 'levity.'"

"Okay, now that's inspired," says Ty Lee. "Maybe they do watch our post-game surveys after all."

"No!" says Azula, slapping the table so hard that all their glasses shake. "Zuko, they've got their claws in you, and they're using them to drag you closer to this Sokka character. It's how addictions begin. It's not like you to take note of AIs at all, let alone in a romantic capacity. This should be a red flag to you."

"I didn't say I wanted to propose to him; I just want to get to know him better," Zuko says defensively. "Why shouldn't I indulge a little? Everyone else here has. Mai with the Fire Lord AI, Ty Lee with Yue, you with your mommy issues—"

"—and you with your cabbages, which you definitely fucked at some point, because you can't even keep a fucking cactus alive in the real world," snaps Azula, climbing to her feet.

"Okay, we've all been drinking; we're crossing some lines," Mai begins.

Azula's voice is incredulous. "He gets to say 'mommy issues,' and _I'm_ the one who gets scolded?"

"I'm sorry, Azula," says Zuko quickly. "Really. I don't know why I said that."

She glares at him. "You said it because you know you're lonely and bad at relationships and you wanted to justify going back to the park to romance someone who has literally been programmed to love you back."

Fucking ow. Zuko winces visibly. Azula does not pull her punches when she's angry. "I deserve to be loved," he says finally, and it comes out so small and pathetic that Azula sighs and sits down again, reaching across the table to seize his hands.

"Of course you do," she says. "But an AI can't love you, Zuko."

Zuko knows that. He does. He has never attempted to form relationships during his stays at the park, keeping his playthroughs isolated or strategically political. The closest thing he had to a friend was the man who bought his cabbages at the market—and yes, the cabbages grew inordinately quickly and perfectly, as idealized as everything else in that small, bucolic world. Being the Fire Lord came with some nastier elements, but he ended those quickly, and spent his time signing peace treaties and withdrawing troops. He has spent his time in the park being responsible, and well-grounded, and practical.

So why can't he shake things up a little bit now? Let loose a little, have a companion? He doesn't know how Sokka can promise to 'remember' him, as the hosts are wiped after every run, but he's achingly curious to find out what he meant. Either way, this seems to be an experience that is catered specifically to his desires. And he wants to see what that looks like.

"I'm booking it now," Zuko says, with finality.

And he does. He makes the reservations from his phone, three days in Sokka's storyline beginning the following morning, while Azula sighs and downs her drink, then his. "No sense in you being hungover tomorrow," she says. "I hope you find what you're looking for, Zuko. Even if it's just a quick screw."

He's not going to screw Sokka, but doesn't bother correcting her. He kisses the ladies goodnight, then goes home to rest before the big day.

His apartment is spacious and comfortable, extremely modest for his income: a two-bed two-bath with cream-colored carpet and sage walls. So different from the blacks and reds of his palace. Zuko doesn't try to reacquaint himself with his surroundings like he usually does, checking his mail and cooking and picking up a little—just goes to the kitchen to stare at the dead mini-cactus on his windowsill. What Azula said to him in the bar cut deep, and he swipes the plant into the trash can, feeling tired and angry.

That night, he dreams inappropriately of Sokka. His hair free about his face, his eyes dark with lust, the way his skin looks against Zuko's as they make love in a nest of sweet-smelling sheets. _Zuko_ , Sokka breathes, pulling him close, his legs parted. _Oh, Zuko—I've been waiting for you—_

Zuko wakes with an erection, panting. He doesn't touch himself. He drinks a glass of water and sits in the armchair in his living room, thinking of Sokka, nervously waiting for morning.

*

The Four Nations is two hours away by high-speed rail. Its own world, truly: the size of a small country, it is encapsulated by towering walls and opaque force fields, confined to the eyes of the world's elite. And Zuko is one of them, he supposes. Most people can only hope to afford one visit to the park in a lifetime. This is Zuko's third. The thirty-something passengers around him buzz with excitement and optimism, and Zuko feels guilty and overindulged as he disembarks into the lobby; a grand, sprawling foyer decorated in pure, sanitized white.

Before he can check in at the front desk, he is intercepted by a gorgeous, middle-aged host who shares Sokka's coloring, posture, and smile. Different eyes, though. Same color, but somehow more clinical, less lifelike. Zuko wonders if he's imagining that.

"Hello, Mr. Lee," she says. "I'm Kya. I will be guiding you through your preliminaries today, unless you would prefer a different attendant?"

"It's—y-you're fine," says Zuko, fumbling. "You—"

"Resemble Sokka? Yes, I was his 'family's' original prototype. His mother, if you will. I've been decommissioned as a part of his backstory, but the directors thought you might still find me interesting."

"I do," Zuko says honestly. "Sokka said he was designed as a brother?"

"Yes, to a fourteen-year-old host named Katara. She is a main feature of the Avatar's storyline. She is also playable, but I didn't suppose you wanted to be familially related to Sokka."

There are no notes of accusation or suggestiveness in her peaceful voice—teasing clearly isn't a main component of her programming—but the implications still make Zuko flush. No, he does _not_ want to play Sokka's sibling. Kya chuckles softly.

"Come with me, please. As Sokka is still in beta, and as a matter of protocol, there are a few things we need to discuss."

Zuko follows Kya up the long escalator that he knows leads to decontamination and wardrobe. Videos play on the walls; an assault of sound and color. _The Four Nations Amusement Park!_ they declare, with sweeping orchestral music and panoramic shots of the worlds it offers: lands of ice and rivers, kingdoms and fortresses, caves, fields, swamps, armies. And the superpowers, of course. A young girl in green commands boulders through the air. The young Avatar's eyes glow white as wind and water whip around him. Zuko had some limited experience with firebending as the prince, but he did not hone his powers, instead favoring the diplomatic games of the land's politics. He wonders if he experiences the park differently than his fellow players. He gets his answer a moment later:

"You have always been a very peculiar guest, Mr. Lee," says Kya. "Minimal use of bending. An almost complete lack of physical or even emotional violence towards the hosts. You choose to interact privately with the environment, farming the land or watching sunrises. You repeatedly isolate yourself from a world you pay to reside in."

"Is that against the rules or something?" Zuko asks, feeling self-conscious and spied upon.

"Of course not. We intend to provide you full autonomy; you may live here however you please. We just wanted to complement your individuality by providing you with a more interactive experience this time around."

"Sokka," says Zuko.

Kya smiles. "Yes. Sokka."

"So this is, what, a marketing scheme?"

"In full disclosure, we can't say that it isn't. We are interested in your responses to our most recent line of hosts, one of whom is Sokka. Our lead programmers have developed new gradations in their behaviors and emotional capacities. You might have noticed during your last visit that Sokka was unique."

"Yes," Zuko says. "He was—more human, somehow. His humor and insights were sophisticated."

"We've also made some changes to object permanence. To our surprise, Sokka has fondly reaccessed his interactions with you many times since his placement in the park."

A chill runs down Zuko's spine. "I thought you were supposed to wipe the hosts' memories between storylines."

"Memory can be a tricky thing with these new hosts, Mr. Lee. Your privacy is still paramount, and Sokka is incapable of referencing you when you are not present. Nevertheless, he— _recast_ you. He collected you as a kind, handsome gentleman he met at the market, and continues to relive your likeness and kindnesses whenever he is not otherwise occupied."

She and Zuko step off the escalator, but Zuko doesn't follow her. He doesn't know what to think. He is flattered, charmed. And at the same time, he is fearful. The idea of himself existing in a host's mind seems an enormous breach of confidentiality, but—Zuko _wants_ to be remembered, doesn't he? Isn't that why he works so hard for attention from his boss? Isn't that why he calls James whenever the silence has grown deep between them, afraid that he will forget about him entirely?

"If you would prefer," says Kya, "we will expunge him of your memory. We do not mean to cause you alarm. We are, however, fascinated by this deviation."

"He remembers me," Zuko repeats, just to be sure.

"In every sense that a host can 'remember,' yes."

"He wants to see me again."

"We suspect that he desires your company. We did not program him to leave you a note, Mr. Lee. He did that as an estimate of spontaneity, which is programmed, but not policed. Without exaggeration, he broke new ground in our research, and he did it in order to become closer to you."

Zuko licks his lips. This is so fucking surreal. "You don't tell all your guests this, do you?" he says, joking feebly. "This isn't the latest scam?"

Kya just smiles at him patiently.

He takes a deep breath. Releases his hands, which have balled into nervous, shaky fists. "Then what's next?" he asks, and though Kya is incapable of judging him, he is grateful to have kept his voice steady.

*

Zuko expects from Kya the same spiel as he has heard twice before, and at first, she delivers it word for word:

"You are about to enter a theme park populated by over three thousand human hosts, all of whom are prevented by their programming from harming you. You may interact with the hosts in any way you desire, without fear of violence or retribution. They will behave like normal citizens, unable to comprehend the possibility of their living in a false reality, but otherwise capable of any reciprocal action. The information we gather here about you will not leave the facility."

He nods, leaning over to sign the waivers and nondisclosure agreements. Kya halts him by raising one hand, deviating from her prototypical address.

"Normally you would be allowed to select your storyline, but because you are here for Sokka, we've isolated you from the other two-hundred-and-seventy-eight guests currently in the park. You will play the part of a visitor to a town in the Earth Kingdom, where Sokka works as a barkeep."

"Oh?" says Zuko. "He said he was in beta to be a part of the Avatar's group."

"A fifteen-year-old host has been implemented in that capacity, yes, but the Sokka you will meet is our original archetype, a young man of twenty-three, whom you met in decontamination yesterday evening."

A year younger than Zuko himself. "Okay," he says. "But he doesn't remember he's a host?"

"No," says Kya. "He believes he is a non-bender from the Southern Water Tribe who completed the War of the Fire Nation narrative, with which you are familiar. Seven years have passed in relative peace."

Zuko nods, committing the backstory to memory. "All right. So there are no major conflicts in his world?"

Kya smiles a neat, even smile. "I wouldn't say that," she says. "Are you ready to change clothes?"

He changes in front of her, too distracted to feel self-conscious. The in-universe wardrobe is simple: a long robe, brown trousers, sturdy boots. A sword at his waist. He dons a farmer's hat and cloak against the possibility of inclement weather, hanging up his suit and tie in one of the private lockers. Last, he removes his rings, unstraps his watch, and places them in the safe in the corner. He studies himself in the mirror, trying to get in character: an Earth Kingdom traveler who exists only in Sokka's hazy, altered memory.

It feels good to be unknown. Feels good to be someone he doesn't dislike.

"We will be monitoring your vitals at all times," says Kya, injecting his tracker into the soft skin of his forearm. "If you would like to leave, simply state so explicitly, and a team will recover you. The scene opens upon your arrival to the small town of Jasper. Do you have any questions for me?"

"No," says Zuko.

"Then please enjoy your three-day stay at the Four Nations Amusement Park." She bows. With her head still lowered, she adds, "And please enjoy Sokka."

It's a bizarre thing to say, and Zuko turns to stare at her, but the giant steel-reinforced double doors are already closing behind him. As Zuko watches, they glimmer out of sight as the force field reinstates itself, neatly returning to part of the cliff face. Zuko stands there for a moment, feeling, as always, briefly abandoned—then reborn.

The town glimmers far ahead of him by familiar, flickering lantern-light. It is nighttime, rainy. Zuko takes a deep breath, gathers his cloak about him, and begins walking.

*

By the time he reaches Jasper, he's soaked to the bone. It's a small community, conspicuously quiet. No one greets him, and the houses are all shuttered. The brightest light is coming from a two-story building on the northeast side of the town square. Zuko enters through the swinging doors, shaking the rain off his clothes.

It's a tavern. A long, shiny counter stretches from one end of the establishment to the other, broken bottles glimmering on the shelves behind it. No one is tending the bar: its few patrons have ducked under the round tables for cover, drinks forgotten, and there's a group of men standing in a loose circle in the center of the room, armed extravagantly with bolos and staffs and hammers. Zuko pushes through them, hand on the hilt of his sword. He has never had to use it before, and he hopes not to now, but he is reluctantly drawing it when he sees the young man on the floor.

"Sokka?" he says, heart pounding in his chest.

Sokka blinks up at him. His nose and mouth are smeared with blood, and one of his eye sockets is swelling. "Zuko?" Sokka whispers.

God, he's so beautiful, even now. _Especially_ now, in this universe's apparel. He's wearing a blue tunic and a necklace that appears to be made of shell or bone, hair escaping from its long, beaded plait. Zuko kneels beside him before he can stop himself, cradling his face in his hands, and Sokka clings back to him. _It's you,_ says the embrace. _It's really you._

"Another little whelp," one of the men snarls, seizing Zuko by one shoulder. Zuko has the flat of his blade against the man's throat immediately, a strange, primal fury coursing through him.

"What did you do to him?" he demands.

"Mind your business," the man snaps, but his will to fight is clearly flagging. After studying Sokka for a long, loaded moment, he calls his crew off with a jerk of the chin. "Not worth the time it'd take to wash out the blood," he says with a smirk, spitting on the floor. Sokka scowls, struggling to his feet, but Zuko takes his arm and shakes his head. They're outnumbered. Sokka stands down, frustrated, favoring his left leg as he leans into Zuko's side. Blood drips down his face; he swipes it away with one forearm.

"Assholes," he says, once the men have exited the bar.

"Who are they?" Zuko asks.

"Rough Rhinos. Bunch of thugs with nothing better to do than terrorize the town. The mercs who usually keep an eye on us are off recruiting kids in Omashu, so I'm the last line of defense." Sokka gives the sword at his hip a weak pat. "Let me tell you how well that's going."

The narrative that Kya hinted toward. A little flimsy, borrowing heavily from old westerns, but Zuko's not here for the story. He draws Sokka's arm around his shoulders and helps him limp back toward the bar, their boots crunching in broken glass. After Sokka is settled on one of the stools, Zuko tips Sokka's head back and presses a towel to his bleeding nose. He searches the shelves for something to use as disinfectant. Sokka watches him, his eyes soft and affectionate.

"I knew our paths were meant to cross," he says.

 _He collected you as a kind, handsome gentleman he met at the market_. Zuko hesitates before asking, "You don't remember decontamination at all?"

Sokka blinks at him, then smiles. "I don't think I know what you mean," he says.

"The Four Nations. Your theme park."

"I don't think I know what you mean." Same inflections. Sweet, unperturbed expression.

Zuko was merely curious. He lets it go. "I didn't know if I'd ever see you again," he confesses, stoking Sokka's split lip with the alcohol, making him wince. "Sorry. I've been thinking about you, Sokka."

"I've been thinking about you too, Zuko. But I think I need to lie down. Hahn can watch the bar for the rest of the night. And thank you for the assistance back there, buddy!" Sokka raises his voice to the blue-clad gentleman still cowering in the corner of the room, who offers one middle finger in response. Sokka sneers back, then winces and touches his lip. "They got me good," he says, chuckling weakly.

"Did they hurt you very badly?" asks Zuko quietly.

"Nah, just batted me around a bit. Nothing I couldn't handle. But I'm glad you showed up when you did."

Zuko shivers as the rag sops up the red from Sokka's nose. _We bleed, too_. He'd known this, of course—even understood that some visitors to the park paid specifically to cause the AIs harm; the horror of that—but seeing one injured up close is something very different. Sokka's beautiful skin is warm and porous and lightly sweaty. Seamlessly realistic. Pure perfection, down to the atom. Sokka sees him staring and interprets it as flirtation, winking with difficulty. His eye is going to be badly bruised in the morning.

"Will you help me upstairs?" he asks.

Sokka stands with Zuko's assistance, but instead of bracing him at the waist again, Zuko places an arm behind Sokka's knees and lifts him into his arms. Sokka clutches at him with one hand and keeps the other on his nose, charmingly taken aback.

"Oh!" he says. "You're stronger than you look. Not that you don't _look_ strong—your arms are so—I mean, uh—"

"You blush," Zuko observes.

Sokka smiles, shy and uncertain. "I blush," he agrees. "Don't you?"

Upstairs, Zuko carries Sokka to his room, then turns around as Sokka changes into his nightwear: wool pants and a white, long-sleeved shirt. Protection against the cold, because of course he must 'feel' the chill in some sense, not so differently from Zuko himself. Sokka splashes his face with water to clean it, then lies down on his bed, sighing. Zuko stares down at him. By candlelight, Sokka's pale eyes glimmer with affection and hope as he pats the blanket beside him.

"Please," he says. "To rest for a moment. Unless you have other accommodations for the evening?"

"I don't," Zuko replies. He takes a deep breath and sheds his cloak, then his boots, one at a time. He arranges himself gingerly beside Sokka, not touching him at all until Sokka laughs and yanks him closer. They turn to stare at each other. Zuko runs the backs of his fingers across Sokka's jawline, feeling the stubble that has collected there.

"You are someone very special, Zuko," says Sokka.

Hearing that makes Zuko's eyes well up. He closes them, but a tear escapes anyway, and Sokka thumbs it away, alarmed.

"Zuko?"

"Tell me again, please," says Zuko.

Sokka laughs. Low, deep rumble in his chest. "You're special," he says, stroking Zuko's hair back from his face. "You're so, so special."

 _This is how they sell it to you,_ Zuko realizes, stomach aching with sudden dread. _This is a script; it can only end badly._ Yet he can't bring himself to move out of the safety of Sokka's arms as he draws Zuko closer and lays kiss after soft, iron-tasting kiss on Zuko's shaking lips, as real, perhaps, as anything either of them have ever experienced before.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](https://foyal.tumblr.com/).


End file.
